


The Distance Between

by anr



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-04
Updated: 2005-11-04
Packaged: 2017-11-05 15:18:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/407943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While she may be Apollo's Starbuck, she's certainly not <i>his</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Distance Between

  


* * *

**2005: Season Two**

  


The second time he kisses her, they're on a crowded, too hot set, with thirty or so actors and crew around them. It's awkward and kinda boring -- Sergio keeps fussing with camera angles and moving them both two inches to the right and five inches to the left -- and the actual kissing only lasts for a few split-seconds.

It's also kinda redundant, she thinks, as Sergio rearranges their arms for the tenth time, because they've done the scene twice already and this close-up will no doubt just get edited out in post-production.

(Jamie cracks jokes about how they've already had "sex" so, therefore, this shouldn't be so complicated, but he's whispering into her ear at the time so she can't quite see the funny side.)

Finally Sergio steps away and waves back Mary and Grace -- who are discussing next week's storyline -- and then it's places, action, blah blah blah.

(Richard's snickering in the background and -- so help her god -- if this starts him off on another round of "me and my Starbuck", she won't be held responsible for her actions. God knows the last thing she wants on her psyche is the mental image of him and Dirk Benedict locking lips.) She concentrates on kissing Jamie.

One second.

(It's nothing like the first time, she thinks, remembering last year, and the way they simulated sex on a closed set and struggled not to laugh the whole time.)

Two.

(Strangely, she thinks, it feels like it _is_ the first time.)

Sergio calls, "cut!" and she opens her eyes to find Jamie only a hairsbreadth away.

"Well," he says, in a low tone that crackles up and down her spine, "that was fun."

"Yeah," she says, "loads." But she doesn't sound nearly as sarcastic as she thinks she should -- and neither does _he_ \-- and he is still so _close_...

Then David sends an assistant down with scene revisions and they're pulled apart. She has three new lines of dialogue to memorise and Jamie needs to discuss act four with Tahmoh.

She was probably imagining things anyway.

  


* * *

**2006: Season Three**

  


The third time they kiss they're on a stage in Secaucus, New Jersey, and in full display of five hundred-odd convention goers. A girl in the seventh row giggles, "so, like, what's it like to, um, kiss Starbuck?" and she barely has enough time to roll her eyes before Jamie drags her up out of her directors chair and dips her low.

His breath smells like the passionfruit smoothie they shared at breakfast and she has the fleeting -- and _impossible_ \-- sensation of his tongue brushing along her bottom lip before the roar of cheers and " _ohmygod, wow_ "s deafen them all.

Jamie holds onto her arm when he sets her back on her feet -- but she's not swaying, damnit; she's a _professional_ \-- and then turns to bow for the crowd. Grinning as widely as she can, she jokingly asks the guys up the back where they get their Evian from (because when water's spiked this good, she's just gotta have her own supply) and everybody laughs. They're an undeniable hit and the internet feeds later that night only seems to confirm what her assistant has already claimed as their best appearance yet.

On the plane home, Jamie jokes that they'll have to do that again (yesterday had been booked out solid because of their antics on the previous day) and Katee rolls her eyes again, and laughs, but does not let herself think -- for even a moment -- about the two dozen bottles of water she has in her luggage.

  


* * *

  


Kisses four, five and six are back on the lots, and she must be getting worse at it or something because it seems to take a lot more rehearsals now to get through those scenes.

She considers asking Ron to downplay the Kara/Lee storyline for awhile, but their ratings have never been higher, and she's not really in the mood for job hunting.

Meatball, in his own special doggy way, tells her to get over herself already.

So she does.

  


* * *

  


Or tries to, at least, but Jamie has taken to kissing her a _lot_ now.

On the set, in the parking lot, on location, in the gym, at the bar they all end up in on Saturday nights when they don't have a three-am wake-up call the next morning...

His lips brushing against her cheek, her temple, the curve of her collarbone. Kissing her fingers, her ankles, her tattoo. A hickey on her neck that makeup won't be able to cover when she's in tanks and stubble rash on the inside of her thighs, which she hopes to god wardrobe _will_ be able to cover, regardless of the scene.

Bone-melting, spine-tingling, _incredibly_ cliche kisses that have her weak in the knees for reasons that are in no way script-related.

She almost wishes they weren't all dreamt.

  


* * *

  


In September, Tricia throws a party to celebrate the latest ratings spike and Katee spends the majority of the night on the balcony, chain-smoking and gossip-trading with Nicki and Paul. Most of the others stay inside with the food and drink, but every so often a group manages to form and, at one point, she finds herself pressed up against Jamie. His arm is around her shoulder, hip warm against hers, and if it weren't for the fact they keep turning away from each other to chat to everyone else, she thinks she'd be just a little too aware of the way his fingers keep brushing the side of her neck.

Then someone starts quoting lines from the show and, the next thing she knows, she and Jamie are re-enacting one of Tricia and James' more memorable scenes.

"Oh, my darling kitchen appliance," deadpans Jamie, in a perfect mimicry of James' accent.

"Oh, my sweet little schizophrenic," she replies, in an absolutely shocking falsetto.

They ham it up, throwing their arms around each other and groping as outrageously as possible, while the others egg them on. Then Michael jumps in, pretending to be the director, and she suddenly finds herself hoisted up onto the balcony railing. Jamie is between her knees, his palms on her back, and she is instantly _terrified_ , because he is the _one_ person who will not be able to catch her if she falls.

"There," says Michael, proudly, " _now_ we've got the right height differences."

Everyone's waiting for them and she hasn't got a clue what to do or say because all she can see is Jamie's eyes, not three inches from her own. He's been drinking beer and she can smell it as sure as he can smell her cigarettes.

Without looking away or even blinking, Jamie says, "line?" and Paul feeds him one. It's stupid and ridiculous (and probably an actual quote), but it's enough to kick them both back into the moment.

They finish the scene with a kiss that is over the top and messy and she forces herself to giggle half way through, ruining it, because messy is _real_ and she really does not need any more fantasy fodder, thankyouverymuch.

Everyone cheers and James produces a tomato (man, they all spend way too much time on the internet for people who work fifty hours a week), which he and Tricia present with all the pomp of an Eddie and Mary scene. When Katee bites into it, accidentally spurting juice onto Jamie's forehead, Kandyse and Nicki laugh so hard they have tears in their eyes.

"I'll find you a cloth," laughs Tricia, and it seems everyone's hand their fill of fun for the moment because they all start to follow her back inside.

Jamie's still holding onto her as she tries to wipe his forehead clean with her sleeve, but he keeps crossing his eyes in an attempt to follow her movements, and she's giggling for real now. God, they are so twelve.

Then his hand shifts on her back, slipping just under the hem of her shirt, and suddenly it's not really very funny or twelve-like at all.

"Jamie --" Christ, is that her voice? She blames its breathless quality on the copious amounts of nicotine she's inhaled tonight and instantly resolves to cut back.

"Katee." His hand flexes against her skin and, damnit, they're not doing this. They're really, really not. She must be dreaming again.

Of their own volition, her fingers move down the side of his face, tracing a line of tomato juice. When she brushes the corner of his mouth, he turns his head to the side and nips gently at the pad of her thumb. She forgets to breathe.

"I don't --" he starts to say, and then stops, and she thinks she would trade the Academy Award she is so gonna win one day just to hear the rest of that sentence. " _Katee_ ," he says again, instead, and his voice is rough and low and so not like him at all. She swallows hard and licks her lips without thinking and, god, now his eyes are on her mouth.

Her free hand curls on his shoulder, nails digging into the blade. She can feel his breath on her chin and she can't think and, oh, he's moving closer, or she is, and they are _so_ not acting right now and --

"Are you guys still out here?" calls out Alessandro.

They don't spring apart, thank god, because a, how suspicious would that look? and, b, she's not so sure her balance would survive the momentum, but they do pull back enough to divorce their oxygen supplies.

"Yeah," says Jamie. "Katee's shirt is caught on the railing." She feels his hand slide out from under her top and it almost makes the lie a little less dishonest. "There you go," he says, and lifts her down.

"My hero," she mutters sarcastically, because he hasn't stepped back yet and she's still plastered against him, her nose just brushing the collar of his shirt. She can smell his aftershave and, god, why does it feel like she's the only one affected by this?

"Yeah," he says, "anytime," and lets her go.

Just like she knew he would.

  


* * *

**2007: Season Four**

  


By the time the Burbank convention rolls around, she's pretty much convinced herself that, yes, while she _did_ have an inappropriate little crush on her co-star for awhile there, it's so completely over now (a hiatus spent travelling and partying with friends, she's decided, will cure pretty much anything). Ron's moved the Kara/Lee storyline back into the angst-ridden want-but-can't-have arena for the start of the new season, which means more character building and less of the one-month-stand that dominated the last year's sweepstakes. It's a nice change, working primarily with Eddie and Michael, and she's enjoying the stretch immensely.

She's also really enjoying the bottle of Cuervo she's been exclusively seeing for the past couple of hours, as they unwind in one of the guys' rooms after a day of panels.

" _Frak me_!" Kara says on-screen, and they all cheer and raise their drinks.

"Frak you!"

The _Battlestar Galactica_ drinking game: she always knew Jamie's laptop would come in handy one day.

"Alright, time to up the stakes," Aaron says, leaning over Grace's legs to grab a handful of pretzels. "We're heading into season three territory now which means less tongue and more lip --"

Katee snorts, but it's Tahmoh who comments. "Geez, man, what show are _you_ on?"

"-- so from now on it'll be one drink for the speaking, two for any kissing, and a big ol' three for the actual sexing."

Oh, they are _so_ gonna end up plastered. Tipping her head back, she looks up at Jamie (bastard stole her armchair when she went to the bathroom, hence why she's now on the floor and he's not) and raises an eyebrow. "Think you can get liver damage from too much sock sex?"

Jamie laughs, choking on his beer, which causes his knee to not so gently hit the side of her head. In retaliation she sinks her teeth into his thigh -- it won't hurt; he's wearing jeans -- and doesn't let go until he's managed to tangle his fingers in her hair and physically pull her away.

Grace cues up the next episode; Aaron steals the rest of the pretzels; Tahmoh cracks open a fresh beer; and Jamie's hand stays on her head, fingers lightly dragging through her hair. She rests her cheek against his thigh, and relaxes just a little too much.

The theme music starts and everyone drinks at the credits-flash of Tricia and James making out in the CIC. And again when Michael says "frak" not ten seconds into the first scene.

Jamie's hand slips lower, brushing the super sensitive skin over her nape, and, _ohgod_ , she can't help it. She shudders and he freezes, and her heart literally stops in her chest.

_Damn_.

(She refuses to wonder how he's found, in less than a minute, the spot it usually takes guys at least three weeks of solid dating to figure out.)

"Sorry," he whispers, or at least, that's what she thinks he says, but someone has just kissed -- she thinks it may have actually been them -- and Aaron's shouting for everyone to drinkdrinkdrink again and it's a little hard to hear.

And breathe, come to think about it.

And just how the hell did her hand end up on his calf, anyway?

She is suddenly pathetically grateful that the only light in the room is the one coming from the laptop. She feels horribly exposed right now, which is all kinds of stupid, really, 'cause she's watching herself have naked pilot sex on a screen not one foot away and here she's just sitting, fully clothed, not even moving -- they're just _touching_ , damnit, and barely at that -- and yet somehow this is way more intense...

Jamie's finger slides down the vertebrae in her neck and she's _gone_.

All the way across the room and down the hallway and into the room she's sharing with Grace, apparently, and it's not until she's locked herself in the bathroom does she feel like she can breathe again. Grace has followed, of course -- she can hear her outside, asking if she's okay -- and she answers, "yeah, fine, tired," in quick succession.

She still has her tequila with her and the bottle is heavy in her hands.

In the mirror, her reflection calls her a fool; a stupid-ass, head-over-heels-for-her-married-co-star _fool_ , and the worst thing about _that_ is that her reflection's absolutely right.

So she raises her bottle, and whispers, " _frak_ ," and drinks.

  


* * *

  


Ron rides them all hard after that -- lead up to the mid-season finale episodes: every scene has to be _perfect_ \-- and even though she's not _really_ trying to, she still manages to avoid Jamie pretty well. Tricia asks to switch gym days with her; she's gotten into the habit of taking Meatball to the park during her lunch break; and, after putting in sixty-odd hours a week at work, she's usually too tired to spend all weekend hanging out and partying. Some of the crew ask if anything's wrong, but most of them are pretty happy just to follow the latest set gossip (she's pretty sure she's dating a Baldwin at the moment; it might even be a different one from last week).

When the scripts call for it, she does all her scenes with him like nothing's changed, and tells herself not to read anything into the looks he gives her, the touches he makes. They're actors, after all; pretending is what they do best and he didn't get that Gemini Award nomination last year for nothing. Afterwards, though, she runs away as soon as they're done because, while she may be Apollo's Starbuck, she's certainly not _his_ , and the sooner she gets that into her thick head, the better.

Life settles into a routine of work, eat, sleep, Meatball, etcetera, and, while she's maybe not the social butterfly she used to be, she doesn't think anyone really notices. Ron's beefed up just about everyone's storylines and they're all working harder than usual in the hopes of scoring a multi-year contract at season's end, as opposed to the year-by-year way they've done it so far.

Eventually, though, Tricia asks to switch back their gym days and, because she hasn't had to act around Jamie off set for awhile now (she's up to thirty-one days and counting, thanks to the mid-season hiatus), she agrees, and things pretty much return to normal.

  


* * *

  


In August, however, Lee goes missing, and is presumed dead, so Jamie takes a week off to spend some time with his girls in London. Taking advantage of the impromptu break (Starbuck has gone AWOL to look for him), Katee calls up a few of her friends for a long weekend down in Las Vegas. There's alcohol and casinos and pretty people in feathers and sequins and, to her surprise, Jamie ends up texting her every few hours with phone-photo requests. He wants a shot of an Elvis impersonator, a Klingon, her room service menu, a '69 Eldorado convertible, a duck, a _Queen of the Nile_ slot machine, a fluorescent palm tree -- the list goes on and she gives up asking why he wants these snaps after her second trip to the _Star Trek_ centre.

He signs each sms with, _J xxx_ , and she does not end each reply with, _wish you were here_.

But she wants to. Constantly. And even with five thousand-odd miles between them, he's still the only thing she can think about.

_Fuck_.

  


* * *

  


When she gets back, she dates Benson, one of the production assistants, for exactly two weeks.

She dates Peter -- episode seventy guest star -- for just over a month.

Miles doesn't even get a second night and whathisname, from that cop show, stands her up at the last minute for the _X-Men 3_ premiere (some emergency with his ex-co-star's cat or something; she didn't bother finding out the details).

In a moment of truly pathetic self-pity, she asks Tahmoh if he'll marry her. They're grabbing sandwiches from the buffet table on the set, and he smiles at her so sweetly she almost means it.

He takes her back to his place for the weekend instead, where his dad cooks enough spaghetti to feed an army and his sisters force her to paint her toenails bright purple. Later that night, when everyone else is asleep, Tahmoh holds her close while she tries not to cry and tells her it'll all work out okay in the end.

She doesn't ask him how he knows that -- or how he knows _anything_ really -- but the fact that he does means more than she could ever say.

  


* * *

  


She doesn't want to go to work on Monday -- wants to just stay in bed, with the covers above her head, and hide -- but that would be childish and weak and, above all else, career suicide. They're about to start working on the final run of episodes for the season and there's no way in hell Ron's gonna accept anything less than a toe-tag from the morgue as an excuse for not showing up.

But then she and Tahmoh both pull into the parking lot at the same time, and she gets to spend most of her morning stealing his espresso and bitching about the mattress he made her sleep on all weekend, much to the amusement of the extras hanging around the coffee machine. And later, in makeup, she and Grace trade horror stories about his sisters' tastes in nail polish colours which has Glen, one the stylists, in stitches. By the time she's due on set, not even the sight of Jamie can ruin her newfound good mood.

"Hey," she says, nudging his shoulder while they wait for the lighting crew to finish setting up, "what's up?" It's the first time she's seen him all day but, from what's she overheard, he's been foul ever since he arrived on the lot. Even Sally from makeup, (who'll usually put up with _anything_ ), is refusing to do his touch-ups now. "You get outta bed wrong or something this morning?"

She's hoping for a smile, at very least, but Jamie just glares and mutters, "well at least it was my own," and walks away, leaving her confused and not just a little hurt.

She's not brave enough to try a second time, and it's two weeks before she sees him smiling again; three before one of them is directed at her.

  


* * *

  


She's just finished bathing Meatball when someone knocks on her door and, even though she knows better, even though it's only been three weeks since Tricia had that stalker arrested in her backyard, she calls out, "come in!" because only four people outside her family know where her new apartment is and no fan is good enough to crack that circle (or get past Tim, her linebacker of a doorman).

"So," says this voice, a moment later, and she looks up from beside her tub to see Jamie leaning against her bathroom door.

"Hey you," she smiles, "aren't you meant to be in LA right now?" She clearly remembers him telling her he was booked on a ten-am flight out of YVR when they were leaving the wrap party last night and it's -- she stretches to glance at her watch on the edge of the vanity -- past six now. Huh.

"So," he says again, like he hasn't heard her, "I got this phone call earlier, and guess what?"

She turns on the taps again so she can rinse down the sides of the tub. "What?"

No reply. She looks over her shoulder and, yeah, he's still there but he's just _staring_ at her and, "Jamie...?" she prompts.

"We got it."

He says it so quietly, she's not sure she's heard him right. "Excuse me?"

"We _got_ it," he says again, and now she _knows_ she can't have heard him right because her heart is pounding in her ears. Blindly, she turns the taps off.

"But it's still only October!" And everyone said they wouldn't find out until November, at the earliest. "Are you sure?"

He nods, a smile edging across his lips, and suddenly it occurs to her that there might be even more to this...

"Three?" she asks then, a little faintly, because that's what Ron was shooting so hard for, but Jamie shakes his head and all the air rushes from her lungs. "Oh." She struggles for a smile and shrugs. "Well, there's always next year," she says philosophically, and tries not to feel too disappointed -- she's still employed, at least, and that's better than nothing.

" _Katee_ ," says Jamie, and she forces herself to look up at him, "five."

She doesn't understand. "Five?"

He nods. " _Five_."

And, then, like lightening, she _does_ understand and she grips the edge of the tub. "I need to sit down," she mumbles and Jamie laughs.

"Dork. You _are_ sitting down."

"Then I need to stand, or something," but she's laughing as well now and when she clambers to her feet, she staggers a little, because the whole world is spinning, and he's still right there, only closer, and her arms around his neck and she's babbling, "oh my god!" over and over again because this will almost put them in line with _Stargate_ , for crying out loud, and she's never, ever, gonna doubt Ron ever again.

She pulls back just enough to beam up at him and says, " _Jamie_ ," like she still can't really believe it all, "we _did it_!" and he brings his hands up to her cheeks, framing her, and nods.

"Yeah," he says, pushing a strand of hair out of her eyes, "we did."

She kisses him then, or maybe he kisses her -- she's not too sure on the specifics -- and it's everything it's always been except _more so_ because this time it's just the two of them and there's not a camera or actor or fan in sight. There's just her, and him, and when her tongue slides past his lips he groans, deep and low, and pulls her so close she can feel his heart beating next to hers.

One of his hands leaves her face, trailing down her neck, shoulder, arm -- his fingers tangle briefly with hers and then let go -- hip, back... When he finds the edge of her tank and slips his hand underneath, like he did last year at Tricia's, she makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat because she can feel him hardening against her and that means this is all completely, one-hundred-percent, _new_.

She breaks away, gasping, and manages one syllable only, " _god_ ," before he drags her lips back to his and she's lost again in a deep, wet kiss that shoots straight through her. Her arms are around his shoulders -- nails digging into the short, soft hairs on his nape -- and she can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything except try and get _closer_.

The edge of her vanity comes as a surprise, and she arches away from it, and into him, and he manages a quick, "sorry," against her lips right before his hands find her waist, grip hard, and lift her up onto cool porcelain. Her top has bunched up underneath her breasts and she uses the change in elevation to quickly strip it off.

Jamie freezes then, and so does she -- tank still dangling from her fingertips -- and she's about two seconds away from complete and total, heart-breaking mortification because she's not wearing a bra (it was going to be her turn in the tub next, just as soon as she finished cleaning up after Meatball) and she's assumed too damn much and...

"Katee," says Jamie, " _Katee_ ," and then his mouth is on her collarbone and she's tossing her shirt away so she can help him pull off his.

Things get a little uncoordinated after that, and that's just fine with her because that means this is all really happening _now_. There's no script here -- no time limit on how long he has to spend on her neck, or some director telling her to keep her hands out of his hair -- there's just _them_ , and whatever _they_ want, and that's so goddamned _freeing_.

Unlike, she realises a moment later, some of their clothes. She can't help but laugh when he tries to kick away his pants and almost trips.

"Careful there, stud," she teases, shimmying out of her boxers with far more poise, "wouldn't want you to slip and --"

His hands find her knees, smooth over her thighs, and when he slips two fingers inside of her, her head falls back onto the mirror with a loud thud. He smirks and says, "what, like that?" and she thinks she couldn't answer him if her life depended on it.

She tries to, though. "You --" she says, but the word cracks as his thumb slides over her just right and everything blurs. She shakes her head (tries to remember that oxygen is a good thing) and summons every last bit of her strength to pull him into a kiss that makes her jaw hurt.

He retaliates by dragging his free hand up the curve of her spine, right up to that spot on the back of her neck that makes her melt, and she lets him go only long enough to grind out a desperate, " _now_."

There's a brief, awkward, shuffling moment as he removes his hand (and she tries not to fall off the edge of the vanity) but then he's back, and he's _there_ , and she takes him inside of her like she's been wanting to ever since, well, _forever_.

"Fuck," she says, and then, "god," and then, "fuck," again, and he's saying her name, over and over again, like, maybe, _he_ can't believe this is really happening, and it's not like she always thought it would be but when he sucks her tongue into his mouth, she flexes just _so_ , and something inside of her breaks.

They come together, and, yeah, it's a cliche, but they've been taking their cues from each other for so long now that she's not really a surprised.

"Katee," he says, and if his voice is a little muffled, that's only because his lips are on her neck, "we did it."

"Yeah." She washes her hands over his shoulders and up into his hair again. "We did."

  


* * *

  


Her top is a lost cause, thanks to her still-damp tub, so she steals his shirt off the floor and sticks out her tongue when he looks like he's going to protest.

"Gimme a break, Jamie. It's, like, forty degrees out," she says, pulling it over her head. She can smell him all over her and it's hard not to grin at her reflection in the mirror.

"You could always give up," he says, and she rolls her eyes, turning to rest her hip against the edge of the vanity as she watches him bend over to grab his pants.

"Oh, please. Like you're not jonesing for one right now too."

He straightens, and zips up, and then takes two very slow steps back to her. "I do not," he says carefully, leaning in and running his finger down the vee of his shirt, " _jones_."

She swallows hard and kisses him quick, but pulls away when his hands start edging the shirt off her shoulder. " _Nicotine_ ," she doesn't quite pant, and he sighs theatrically.

"Okay, okay, you win." She grins and bounces up just enough to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. "But after that I want actual food."

"Deal!" Sliding past him, she heads out of her bathroom, already mentally running through the list of takeaway places she has on speed-dial, and then stops, suddenly, at the sight of the suitcases next to her front door. They're his -- she's taken way too many trips with him over the past few years not to be able to recognise his Louis Vuitton's on sight -- but she doesn't understand why they're _here_.

Jamie comes up behind her, his hands sliding over her hips, and she knows the nanosecond he sees what's caught her attention because his entire body stiffens. " _Oh god_ ," he breathes out, " _Kerry_!"

Her stomach drops so fast she almost loses her balance, and she feels like she's suddenly entered some time-warping universe, where she's actually a character on TV. Where it's possible for time to slow down to the point where it's almost _stopped_ , because it seems to take her forever to turn around and look at him.

He's standing stock still, blood draining from his face, and when she says, "Jamie?" his eyes dart wildly between her and the luggage. His mouth opens and closes, but he doesn't say anything, and, shit, she's starting to panic a little herself now. "Jamie!"

She considers touching him -- _doesn't_ \-- and snaps her fingers in front of his face. He blinks, and says, "Katee?" and the relief that goes through her is enough to make her knees tremble.

"Yeah," she says, softly, and suddenly he's rambling and she has never, ever, seen him like this before. It's a little freaky.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's just that she doesn't -- I didn't -- my mobile rang as I was claiming my bags at LAX and all I could think was that I had to see your face when you heard so I -- and then, and --"

She touches him then, just lightly, just on the arm, and puts enough of the pieces together to understand a little of the day's events. "Jamie," she says, and she's never felt so goddamned old in her entire life, "call your wife." He opens his mouth and she shakes her head. "She'll be worried," she says, and turns him towards her bedroom, "it's okay."

He nods, once, and she watches him enter her bedroom; hears him pick up the phone; and waits until she hears him say, "Kerry? Yeah, I'm okay... I'm at Katee's --" before moving away.

  


* * *

  


She smokes three cigarettes, lighting them off one another, until she's numb enough to brave ducking back inside her apartment for her cell -- she can't hear anything from her bedroom but, then again, she's very carefully _not_ listening -- and then smokes a fourth while she calls for Chinese. She orders enough for two and tells herself that's because it's easier to organise tomorrow's lunch now, instead of in the morning, but refuses to analyse why she's asked for white rice instead of her standard fried.

Her apartment is terribly quiet when she finally convinces herself to return from the balcony, but his bags haven't moved from their place at the door, so she can only assume he's still in the bedroom. She checks on Meatball -- he's asleep on his pillow in the laundry -- and grabs a bottle of Evian from the fridge and wishes she knew what the hell she's meant to do now.

Tim rings on the security phone to tell her her food's arrived, and she almost says, _I'll be right down_ , before realising that she's dressed in only a shirt and all her clean clothes are in the one room she's avoiding. Tim must have been an angel in a previous life, though, because when she hesitates too long, he just promises to send it up to her and, damnit, she's not gonna cry.

"Thanks," she says, and she thinks she has never meant the word more in her whole life.

  


* * *

  


Five minutes later, she knows she can't take the silence any longer. Heading for her bedroom, she edges just inside the ajar door.

"Hey," she says, quietly.

He's sitting on the edge of her bed, facing the window and, while he doesn't turn around, he does respond. "Hey."

The light's off, but there's enough glare from the street outside for her to be able to pick a path to the bed. She stays by the door. "I, uh, I ordered Chinese." She almost holds up the bags in her hands, like he'll want proof or something. He doesn't say anything and she takes a step into the room. "Jamie?"

"I remember this."

He has one of the photos from her nightstand in his hands and she doesn't need to look to guess which one it is. Exhaling slowly, she walks over to sit beside him, the Chinese carefully placed at her feet, and looks anyway.

"God, I hated my hair back then."

He doesn't laugh, but she thinks that, if this were any other time, he would have and that's almost enough. Taking the photo from his hands, she tilts it into the glare.

There's nothing special about the photo. It's just a group shot, after all, and everyone who was anyone in the miniseries is in there. There's her and Jamie and Eddie and Mary and Grace, Tahmoh, Aaron, Kandyse, Peter, Michael, Tricia, James and, god, so many more, and they're all smiling and laughing for the camera, with their arms around each other, and she likes that. Likes to remember that wrap party, and the way they celebrated until dawn, because right then, and right there, and despite what ever else might come after, they all _knew_ they'd done something special together.

With a sigh, she leans past him and places the photo back where it belongs, half-hidden behind the shot of her and her brother back home, and feels the plastic bags at her feet shift when she straightens. "So," she says, "moo shoo pork?"

  


* * *

  


They end up on her living room floor, carpet picnic style, and Jamie's pretty much monosyllabic at first, as is she, but then the silence stretches too far, snaps, and suddenly she's babbling.

Set gossip, hiatus rumours, MTV's current top five: she runs topic after miscellaneous topic into each other while she waits for him to get up, call a taxi, and leave, and can't understand it when he does none of those things. When he just sits there, chopsticks methodically shoveling chow mein into his mouth, and then argues back that the Backstreet Boys will never trump the Beatles as most popular boy-band ever.

"Whatever," she says, searching through the mess of cartons for the fortune cookies she saw earlier. "You have to say that: you're British."

"Gee, thanks."

She grins and shoves his knee off a small paper bag. "Aha! Found 'em!" With one in each hand, she raises her fists triumphantly. "Pick one."

He stills and, fuck, it's not like she meant it like _that_ , so she pretends not to notice and keeps her fists in front of him until he finally moves and taps her right hand. Dropping the cookie onto his palm, she cracks open her own, almost ripping the thin curl of paper inside. He's already reading his.

"What's it say?" she asks, and he rolls his eyes.

" _You always find something in the last place you look_." He nods at hers. "Yours?"

She glances down, reads it, freezes, and then smiles so hard it hurts. " _Watch out for a black cat_ ," she says, because it's the first piece of superstition that comes to mind. She scrunches the fortune into a tiny ball.

Jamie pops a piece of cookie into his mouth. "Good advice."

"Yeah." And far more appropriate, she thinks, than: _you may be one person in the world, but to one person you may be the world_. Gathering up the empty cartons, she heads for the kitchen. "You want a coffee or something?" she asks, switching on the jug, and there's no reply, so she says, "Jamie?" and starts to turn around.

He's right behind her and, while she doesn't jump, she does take a step back because the look on his face is so very, very _quiet_.

"Coffee?" she repeats, but her voice is small because she knows he's going to refuse, and finally leave, and she can't quite work out whether she's relieved or not about that.

"Kerry and I," he says, slowly, like he's choosing each word very carefully, "we --"

" _Don't_." The admonition escapes so sharply it cuts, and he flinches.

"Katee --"

"No." She turns away to get the coffee mugs, or the milk -- hell, _anything_ \-- and stiffens when he touches her arm. "Please," she says softly, staring at the floor; too softly, because no matter what he says, she knows she'll only misinterpret it and she doesn't want to put herself through that, "just... _don't_."

There is a terrible silence, broken only by the sound of boiling water, before he sighs. "Okay," he says, and lets her go.

She grabs the mugs.

  


* * *

  


They watch Showtime after that, and play _I-once-worked-with-them-on-..._ until they're both exaggerating their resumes and claiming roles they probably wouldn't ever touch with a ten foot pole. It's easy, and light-hearted, and that's how she knows it's not real, not them, because they have never been just that, never been _just friends_ , not like they should be, but she keeps pretending, as does he, and the illusion holds.

It's late when she finally turns off the TV, and he's already half-asleep on her couch, so she gets a blanket and pillow out of her closet and hands them to him.

"Goodnight," she says and he doesn't reply, just looks up at her, and, god, she has to look away because she can't possibly be whatever it is he thinks he sees.

His hand reaches out, warm fingers wrapping around hers and tugging just a little, and even though she should move away, she doesn't; she just stands there, transfixed, as his lips find the inside of her wrist. It's not a kiss, not really, but the slide of his mouth against her pulse makes her tremble all the same, and when he pulls her down on top of him, it's without resistance.

He kisses her then, gently, and runs his hands up and down her sides until she's rocking her hips back and forth over his. Until their clothes are gone and there's nothing between them, nothing stopping them, just skin on skin, and the way his eyes never leave her face as he slides into her, like that's where he belongs.

She can't stop looking at him now; can't stop thinking about how he jumped back on a plane today, only moments after getting where he was supposed to be, just so he could see her smile...

It's slower this time. More careful. All soft touches, and unbearably sweet caresses, and she keeps losing her breath, losing herself, until the only thing left is him and the way he fits in her arms.

Afterwards, he holds her close, fingers tangled in her hair, and she falls asleep listening to his heart beat.

In the morning she wakes alone and, god, that hurts, so much, but she understands it's how things have to be. So she just stays there on her couch, curled in a blanket that smells of them, and drifts for awhile.

There's a tiny scrap of paper under her coffee table and she stares at it uncomprehendingly for a long, long time before finally stretching just enough to claim it.

It's his fortune from last night, but it doesn't breathe a word about lost and found cliches so she has to read it twice, and then a third time, before the words make sense.

_You shouldn't marry someone you can live with; you should marry the someone with whom you cannot live without_.

Shredding the fortune into confetti, she pulls the blanket up over her head.

She always knew he was the better actor.

  


* * *

  


Ron calls her on the Monday to confirm the news, and to give her an idea of the official line they're looking for in case any of the press try to contact her (she dutifully promises to pass the word along to her agent). Also, he says, he's hosting a celebration on Wednesday night (which is the day SciFi will release the official statement) and he'd love to see her there. Guest as well, if she likes.

She'd love to be there too, she says truthfully, but she's flying to New York tomorrow and the timing sucks. She asks him to pass along her congratulations to everyone, and then rings off before he convinces her to change her travel plans, because there's no way she can party with her co-stars and their families after this weekend.

Not yet, anyway.

Maybe in a few years...

And she really does need to be on the East Coast this week, that's not a lie. She's managed to land a supporting role in the latest disaster-movie blockbuster that's about to start filming and, while she knows it's not going to win her any awards anytime soon, the exposure it will bring is more than going to make up for the somewhat cheesy dialogue. She'd have to be crazy to jeopardise that by showing up jetlagged and emotional after a night of watching Jamie and Kerry celebrate with everyone.

A little voice in the back of her head whispers that she's probably going to be that crazy _anyway_ , regardless of whether or not she attends Ron's party, so...

She tells it to shut up.

  


* * *

**2008: Season Five**

  


Hiatus passes too quickly, like it always does.

She's in New York longer than she'd planned -- a bomb scare in Madison Park delays filming for a week, and then two -- so she ends up calling Kirsten and spending Christmas in a hotel suite, watching _Friends_ reruns and ordering way too much room service. New Year's she spends on the roof of a high-rise on 42nd Street -- Joss wants the atmosphere just right -- and it is one of the coolest things she's ever done because the ball is _right there_ , not two buildings away from her, and this is the sort of buzz that makes acting her dream job all over again.

Jamie texts her, and leaves messages on her voicemail, and she deletes them all without reading or listening to a single word; tells herself it's easier that way.

When filming finally wraps up she heads home for a few weeks, and lets her mom feed her way too much while she lazes about the house and does as little as possible. She knows that, come February, she'll have to double her gym hours to work it all off again, but she doesn't care. For the first time in months she feels like she can breathe again; feels like the old Katee, the one she used to be, before everything got so complicated.

By the time she's due back in Vancouver, she's actually relaxed enough to the point where she's looking forward to getting back into Kara's head again. Ron's already emailed her a brief outline of his thoughts for the coming season and she can't wait to get in there on Monday morning and see what else he's come up with.

Which is probably why she turns up early, too eager to sleep in, and spends a good hour wandering around the sets and sinking in the _Battlestar Galactica_ atmosphere before anyone else can get there. Just wandering in and out of the CIC and Colonial One, and smoothing her palm along the side of her Viper, because that's what Starbuck does, when she's been away from it for too long.

Eventually the others start to appear. Tricia first, looking tanned and gorgeous after a winter spent in Hawaii. Then Mary and Ron, Kandyse, Eddie and Tahmoh...

Jamie arrives while she's quizzing Aaron about his break and, yeah, there's a brief flash of... _something_... when their eyes catch, but she shrugs it away with only a little bit of difficulty; forces herself to smile and wave; and then turns back to hear the rest of Aaron's story.

Ron breaks up the reunions after awhile and they all sit down to discuss the upcoming season. First up, of course, will be the resolution of last seasons' cliffhanger. Then a few episodes that will both tie up some of the loose ends, and introduce this year's latest ideas. After that, the mid-season finale... more work on the overall arcs with the odd stand-alone episode to break it all up... and then once again back into a cliffhanger.

They break for lunch, and then start focusing on episode eighty. Ron passes out the scripts and pretty soon they're testing out random lines of dialogue, or questioning motives, and the rest of the day passes quickly. Some of the others decide to go for dinner and to continue catching up, but they'll be filming within two days, three at the most, and that doesn't leave a lot of time for preparation. Begging off, she heads home with lines and blocking cues already running through her head, and thinks, maybe, this won't be so hard after all.

  


* * *

  


On Thursday, she has a scene with Michael first up, so she heads straight to wardrobe and flicks through someone's copy of the latest TV Guide while she waits for Fran to finish ripping the sleeve off her uniform. The material's made of surprisingly stubborn fabric, however, and when attempt number four fails, Fran simply makes her take off the jacket and promises to return in fifteen, a miraculously ruined uniform in tow.

Chuckling, she nods and turns back to her magazine. She still has a little time before she's needed on set and it's quiet in here, half-hidden behind the racks of costumes.

"I need to talk to you."

Startled, the magazine slides off her lap, and she looks up just in time to see Jamie shut the trailer door. "Oh?" she manages, heart beating a little too fast (it's only adrenaline, though; it's only because he's surprised her).

"You've been avoiding me."

She shrugs, but doesn't deny it. "I've been busy," she says.

"For four months?"

She shrugs again and reaches down to pick up the magazine.

"Why didn't you return any of my calls?"

_Because it would have hurt too much._ She doesn't say that, of course; just sighs a little, and shakes her head. "What do you want, Jamie?"

She doesn't know what it is he hears in her voice, but his tone softens just a little anyway. "I need to talk to you about something," he says again. "Something important."

She flips a page. "So talk."

"Katee --"

She's hit the gossip section now, and she skims the who's-dating-who and who-was-seen-where blurbs without much interest until...

Jamie's still talking. "Look, Kerry and I are... I want you to know that we're going to --"

She stands up so fast she almost sways, but that's not really surprising considering the speed with which her blood is suddenly pounding through her veins and head, deafening her. "That's nice," she says, and she knows her voice sounds dead, but she can't really bring herself to care.

Pushing past him, she hears him swear and maybe he's going to grab her and stop her, but she's too fast, thank god, and the door slams shut behind her. Once outside she takes a deep breath, and another, and then looks up and, shit, there's people everywhere -- extras, and crew, and, oh god, David's waving at her from across the lot -- and she can't run away, or hide...

So she smiles, and waves, and takes her uniform from Fran (its sleeve now appropriately missing), and then heads towards the set, because the sooner she gets there, the sooner she can punch something.

The magazine is still in her hand and she can't feel her fingers anymore, she's gripping it so tightly, but she forces herself to let it go, to throw it into the nearest trash can, because it's not like she needs it anymore.

Not now that the grainy picture of him and her, with Darcy on his shoulders and Isla and Ava holding hands in front of them, is burnt into her brain. Not with the cheesy headline and story text running through her head, on loop, ad nauseum, and god, this is never gonna not hurt, not ever, because four months ago was when they... and he...

> _Another Bambini?  
>  Jamie Bamber (Apollo from Battlestar Galactica) and wife, singer and actor Kerry Norton, took the time recently to visit the Los Angeles Zoo with their three children, Isla, Ava and Darcy. Rumoured to be four months pregnant, Norton is currently recording her second album at Park Hill Music, while Bamber enjoys a break from filming the SciFi Channel's cult success in Vancouver._

With willpower she never even knew she had, she manages to bite back her tears until she gets home. It is, she thinks, the day's only saving grace.

  


* * *

  


Jamie avoids _her_ , after that.

Because it would look strange and obvious otherwise, she makes a few painful attempts to chat with him over the next couple of weeks. She's always polite, and friendly, but their conversations never involve anything other than shop-talk and even that seems kinda strained on his end. Set gossip reveals that Kerry and the girls have remained in Los Angeles instead of returning to Vancouver -- no doubt, Katee thinks, because Kerry's still working -- so she puts it down to that and is careful to avoid being alone with him. By the end of March, they've pretty much perfected the art of ignoring each other and, yeah, it hurts, but she's got to believe it's better than the alternative.

In April they all go to Comic Con and she sits beside him like always. They field all the standard questions, pose for all the usual photos, and when she flirts outrageously with him during the last panel, the fans eat it up like candy. It's all an act, of course, but the fans don't know that and she'd rather curl up and die than let what happened between them ruin the Starbuck and Apollo dynamic for anyone else.

Kerry brings the girls back to Vancouver in May and by then it's obvious that she's _not_ pregnant. Katee watches Jamie from the safety of her trailer as he plays with his kids between takes, and knows that this doesn't change anything. The fact that she's no less gullible than the twenty-six million other TV Guide readers in the world doesn't mean that it won't be for real next time, and she has no desire to put herself through that kind of agony again.

SciFi premieres the new season in the last week of June, and Ron gives them all the night off work. Grace invites everyone over to her place to watch but it's mid-season for them, and they've all been in-character for four months straight, so no one's that surprised when they end up watching old movies instead and recasting themselves as the leads. It's decided that she and Jamie would make a perfect Scarlett and Rhett, and she agrees, but only because he hasn't stopped staring at her all night and she'd love to throw a vase at his head.

In July she heads to Maui for a week of sun, sand and margaritas, and literally bumps into Alex, who she hasn't seen since just before the miniseries started filming five years ago. He's there on business -- freelance photography, if she remembers correctly -- but that doesn't stop him from asking her if she's available for dinner. She is, of course, and they spend all night catching up... and then do the same again the next night, and the night after that, and by the end of the week she's finding it incredibly difficult to remember why she broke up with him in the first place. He's funny, and smart, and easy to be with --

"So, what's his name?"

"What's who's name?"

"The guy you're trying to convince yourself you're not hopelessly in love with. And rather unsuccessfully, I might add."

\-- and _way_ too perceptive for his own good; the reasons why they stopped dating all come flooding back. But she laughs, and brushes the subject aside (she's had a lot of practice doing that this year), and he lets her get away with it because she's flying home tomorrow, and she thinks they both knew when she arrived that this was never going to be the start of some big reconciliation.

"He's a fool to not want you," Alex says at the airport the next day, while she waits for her flight to be called, and she smiles sadly.

"I don't think wanting's ever been the problem. _Having_ , on the other hand..." She shakes her head and doesn't finish, just reaches up and kisses him goodbye, because she really did have a great time this week.

"Take care," he says, and hands her her carry-on.

"You too."

  


* * *

  


Even though they're still _at least_ a month away from filming, David starts working on the season's cliffhanger episodes in August. He and Ron are both determined to end things with a bigger-than-usual bang this year (probably to prove, beyond all doubt, that the show really is worth its five year contract) but they're both keeping quiet as to what this will actually involve and the rumours are flying thick and fast around the set.

Katee doesn't really care what happens in the finale -- she trusts Ron implicitly to do what's right by Starbuck -- but, then again, she does have more pressing concerns on her mind right now.

Staying employed long enough to _make it_ to the finale, for example, would be a nice start.

"Crap." Pushing Meatball off her sofa, she starts pulling up the cushions. "Crap, crap, crap, _shit_."

There's a loud pounding on her door.

"Just a minute!" she yells out, and gets down onto the floor so she can look underneath the furniture.

The pounding stops -- and she thinks, _thank god_ \-- but then the door flies open and the next thing she knows she's got a five-foot-nine crazy person in her trailer.

"Did you know about this? _Tell_ me you didn't know about this!"

"Know about what?" she asks absently, crawling over to her backpack and upending its contents on the floor. "Have you seen my belt?"

"Oh, you _did_ \-- that's so unfair!" Looking up, she watches as Grace flings herself onto her sofa dramatically, almost flattening Meatball in the process. "God, why am I always the last person to find out about this sort of stuff?"

"Grace!" she says, and snaps her fingers. " _Focus_!" Grace peeks at her from under the arm flung over her eyes. "My belt?"

Grace groans, and rolls her eyes. "Oh, _screw_ your belt. I'm feeling dangerously uninformed here!"

"And I'm going to be dangerously _unemployed_ if I don't get my ass over to the set. I was five minutes late _ten minutes ago_."

"Oh, _fine_!" With an exaggerated sigh, Grace picks herself up and heads to the opposite end of the trailer. "Here," she says, plucking the belt off the top of the TV (Katee gapes a little, because it certainly wasn't sitting there a moment ago), and tossing it at her. " _Now_ can we discuss this?"

Sliding the belt around her waist, Katee nods. "You have ten seconds," she says, because she's not going to say no to the person who's just saved her ass, and then jumps when Grace shoves the _Passages_ page of the Who Weekly under her nose. "Robert Downey Jnr arrested for cocaine possession again?" she reads quizzically.

Grace slaps her with the magazine. "Not that, you dummy. _This_."

Rubbing her arm, Katee snatches the magazine off her and looks at where Grace is pointing to the bottom of the page.

> _... Actor Jamie Bamber, 35, and wife, singer Kerry Norton, have divorced after almost five years of marriage. The pair have three daughters..._

" _Well_?" says Grace impatiently, when she doesn't say anything, and Katee just shrugs.

"Well what?"

Grace looks like she's going to burst something. " _Did you know_?"

Handing her back the magazine, Katee rolls her eyes. "You shouldn't believe everything you read, you know," she says dismissively, and then remembers the time. "Shit, they're gonna kill me!" Grabbing her jacket, she flies out the door and by the time she's hit the set, Grace's article is the last thing on her mind.

After all, nobody's that gullible twice.

  


* * *

  


In September, it rains. Constantly. And for two weeks straight, which seems to put everyone in a bad mood. Episode ninety-five has to be rescheduled because it's meant to be filmed almost entirely on location, Kandyse comes down with some kind of viral infection (which she kindly passes on to James, Tricia, Mary, David and six of the crew), and Katee's car finally decides that it doesn't need brakes anymore. Or, at least, that's what she's assuming it decided the night she couldn't stop at an intersection and ended up decapitating a garden gnome and three letterboxes.

_It could be worse though_ , she tries to think optimistically, as she stands under the dripping awning outside the lot and waits for her taxi, _she could be..._

"Katee?"

Glancing skywards, she rolls her eyes -- _gee, thanks_ \-- but it's with a smile fixed firmly on her face that she turns around. "Jamie. Hey."

"Hey." He frowns. "I thought you'd already gone for the night?"

She nods. "Just waiting for my taxi." When he looks at her blankly, she half-explains, "my car's in the shop...?" and he blinks.

"Oh." Obviously, he hasn't been getting his set gossip this week. "And you've been catching cabs to and from work?"

She shrugs. "Not all week, no. Usually Tahmoh or Grace give me a lift."

He actually looks around for a moment, before stating the obvious. "Today's their day off."

"I know." She almost says, _which is why I'm waiting for public transport_ , but Jamie's still looking about, like he can't quite work out why she's standing out here instead of already being at home, and now it's her turn to frown. "Are you okay? You seem a little... distracted. Or something."

"What?" She watches him straighten, and finally meet her eyes. "No, I'm fine." Off her doubtful look, he adds, "just a little tired, maybe. Long day, you know?"

He's been doing Viper scenes all afternoon, so that makes sense. "Okay." She waits for him to say goodbye, and leave, and when he doesn't, takes the initiative herself. "Well, I guess I'll see you tomorrow then..."

"Tomorrow," he repeats, and nods. "Right." He glances out at the soaked parking lot -- takes a step towards the rain -- and then stops and looks back at her. "Would you like a lift?"

_No. Yes. Shit._ "Nah," she says, shaking her head, "my taxi'll be here..." she glances at her watch and can't help but wince, "... soon?"

At her tone, he crosses his arms and almost smirks, almost seems more like himself. "Define 'soon'."

"Um... sometime this year?" She laughs though, and starts rummaging through her backpack for her cell.

"Katee --"

She waves him off. "It's fine. Really. I'll just call them again and remind them how they shouldn't leave stars standing in the rain, and there'll be a taxi here before you know it."

"Uh huh."

" _Really_ ," she repeats, and smiles her brightest smile at him. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"If you're sure..."

"I am." Hitting redial, she lifts her cell up to her ear and waggles her fingers at him. "Later."

"Yeah." Tugging his jacket closer around his body, he gives her a final look, and then turns and heads into the rain.

  


* * *

  


Five minutes later, she's still on hold -- _... your call is important to us..._ \-- and getting wetter, despite the awning. Pressing closer to the wall behind her, she glares at the sky and the rain and the world in general... and is somehow unsurprised when Jamie's SUV pulls up in front of her. The passenger side window rolls down just enough for her to see him leaning across to unlock the door.

"Get in," he says, and she hesitates just long enough for the impersonal voice recording to tell her, once again, that her call has 'progressed in the queue' before giving up.

"Thanks," she says, as she clambers inside and shuts the door. Jamie nods and waits for her to throw her backpack onto the backseat and find her seatbelt before pulling away from the curb.

"No problem."

  


* * *

  


She doesn't live that far away but it's wet, and the traffic is heavy, so she's not too surprised when the usually fifteen minute drive takes at least double that. They don't talk much -- Jamie's concentrating hard on the roads -- and there's a not-quite-classical CD playing, so Katee just sits back and watches the world pass them by. She's comfortable, and relaxed, almost dangerously so, and when Jamie finally pulls up outside her building, it takes her a moment to realise that, yes, they have actually arrived.

Slipping off her seatbelt, she smiles at him. "Thanks," she says, as she reaches behind her for her bag.

He smiles back. "Anytime."

Her backpack isn't coming. Twisting in her seat, she tries to get a better grip on it. One of the straps seems to be caught on something -- a carseat, she realises a moment later -- so she contorts further until she's almost half climbing through the gap between the two front seats. Jamie watches her with an amused expression.

"Are you quite right there?"

"Sure," she says. Her elbow hits his shoulder and he grunts in surprise. "Sorry."

"No wonder the cab never arrived. Do you beat up their drivers too?"

She laughs. "Only when they try to charge me too much." Stretching ludicrously, she just manages to get her fingertips under the caught strap. "Aha!" Pulling back awkwardly, she drags the backpack free. "Got it!"

"Yay," he says, mostly sarcastically, but he's still smiling and suddenly it occurs to her that she's rather close. Much closer, in fact, than she usually allows off the set these days.

"Well, um, thanks," she says again, and starts to turn back into her seat. She's off balance, though, and when her hand slips, it's only his quick fumbling that stops her from falling shoulder and head first into the steering wheel. So she blinks, and says, "hi," rather stupidly, because he's _really_ close now and she can't quite figure out where all her limbs are.

"Hi," he agrees, and kisses her.

The Kara/Lee storyline's been focusing more on their working relationship for most of this season, much to the fans' displeasure, while Ron maps out the next four years -- he doesn't want them to burn out too soon -- so it's been exactly eleven months and five days since she last felt the slide of his lips on hers. But, oh, it's just like she remembers -- _he's_ just like she remembers -- and even though she knows she'll hate herself for it later, she sinks into his touch without a moments hesitation. 

The drag of his tongue on her bottom lip spins her senses, while the tiny, indistinct sound he makes when she kisses the corner of his mouth scatters any remnants of self-control. Her mouth parts under his, drawing him in further, and he kisses her like he's drowning, like she's air, like this is everything he needs to survive. She can smell his aftershave, and the rain, and the combination is heady, intoxicating, and she thinks she has never wanted him more than she does right now.

Then somebody accidentally touches the horn -- it might have been him, but she's honestly not sure -- and the sound is enough to jar them apart.

He's panting rather heavily but, then again, so is she. When he licks his lips, they're still close enough for her to feel the faintest touch of his tongue against her own mouth.

"I --" _want you_ , "-- can't feel my legs," she admits, reluctantly.

He chuckles breathlessly, and brushes his lips against her forehead. "Okay."

It takes them a minute or so of awkward maneuvering to untangle their limbs, but eventually she's back in her seat. He keeps one of her hands caught between his and, when he raises it to his mouth, and kisses her fingertips, what little breath she's managed to reclaim flees once more.

_Do you want to come up?_ The words stick in her throat as he lets her go, and she tells herself that's a good thing.

"Tomorrow?" he says, and she nods.

"Tomorrow."

She gets out and is soaked almost immediately, so she doesn't bother running for the entrance, just stands there on the curb and watches him drive away.

  


* * *

  


When he doesn't come into work the next day, she runs through her scenes with Mary on auto-pilot and then spends the majority of her weekend telling Meatball it was a mistake, or just a kiss between friends, or maybe they were acting a yet unwritten scene from the show... and she's right, because she does hate herself a little now, but that's mainly because she knows she's full of shit and the kiss wasn't any of those things. (Except maybe for the mistake part -- that one's probably the truth.)

She almost calls him at least a dozen times and is (mostly) relieved each time she hangs up before dialing the final number.

By the time Monday rolls around, she's pretty much convinced herself that, yes, while it was most definitely a mistake, at least it was a _smaller_ mistake than last time so she probably shouldn't beat herself up over it too much. Then she arrives on set to find Ron almost tearing his hair out because Jamie has now officially called in sick with the same viral infection that knocked out the others (she's quickly been written into four new scenes so that the episode can still be completed on time) and all her she-will-avoid-him/she-won't-avoid-him arguments become redundant.

She remembers the warm press of his skin against hers in the car -- adds fever-induced-delirium to her list of excuses -- and reluctantly decides that it never really happened in the first place.

  


* * *

  


Jamie's off work for a week and comes back just in time for it to be her turn at death's door, so it's October before they have to spend any real time together. The rain has finally stopped so Ron hands them all the revised scripts for episode ninety-five (which will now be episode ninety-nine) and promises to fire the next person who falls ill. (Katee has a sneaking suspicion he's made a similar threat to God about the weather.)

"I think Sergio wants you."

They're walking hand-in-hand across the park and when Jamie turns to see what she means, his momentum pulls her closer. He sighs. "What now?" Dropping her hand, he jogs off, and Katee sighs a little herself before sitting down. Absently plucking at strands of grass, she watches Jamie talk with Sergio, and then waves at Grace and Tahmoh, who are playing with Emily, the four-year-old hired to be their daughter, over by the swings. Grace has Emily in her lap, and every time the swing arcs towards him, Tahmoh pretends to try and pull them off. Emily is squealing loudly and Katee thinks this is going to be one of the cutest things ever seen on the show.

Jamie heads back and stands beside her.

"What's going on?" she asks, shading her eyes with one arm as she looks up at him.

"They want us to turn it up a notch," Jamie shrugs. "Apparently we're not delivering the right mood." Grabbing her hand, he pulls her up. "C'mon."

He heads closer to a nearby set of trees and takes a seat in front of one of them, his back propped up against the trunk. Following his lead, she settles in the vee of his legs and leans back against his chest. His arms wind around her and he takes her hands in his. When she looks over at the crew, Sergio gives them both a thumbs-up.

"Problem solved," she says idly, and watches Jamie play with her fingers.

"Yeah." His palms flatten against hers, like he's comparing hand spans, and then smooth over her wrists and around, until he's cupping them between his.

They stay like this for the next twenty minutes or so, and then swap places. One of the crew brings over a paperback, which Katee pretends to read, while Jamie lies with his head in her lap. Her free hand is in his hair, nails dragging absently across his scalp, and when he makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, she pauses and looks down at him.

His eyes are closed, but he turns his head slightly, cheek almost brushing against her stomach. "Read to me?" he asks, and because she can't think of a single good reason not to, she nods and clears her throat and starts from the first sentence she sees.

(Five minutes later, she has to stop and find the first chapter, because she has absolutely no idea what it is she's reading, and Jamie smiles but doesn't say anything.)

After awhile, Grace wanders over and drops down in the shade near them. "Remind me again why I want kids?"

Laughing, Katee puts down the book. "Tired?"

"Mmm hmm." Leaning back on hands, Grace stretches out. "Thank god for nap time."

"For you or Emily?"

Grace laughs. "Both!"

Jamie shifts so he can reach over and tug at her ponytail. "Where's Tahmoh?"

"Getting food." Grace twitches away from him, and Katee slaps his shoulder lightly.

"Hey! What a _great_ idea," she says, with all the subtly of a sledgehammer, and Jamie rolls his eyes.

"Alright, alright. I'm going." He gets to his feet and groans, rolling his shoulders back. "You want anything in particular?"

Her gaze is currently caught on the patch of skin just visible above the waistband of his jeans where his shirt has risen up while he stretches, so she just shrugs, and mumbles something noncommittal, because what she wants is most certainly not on the set menu.

Jamie wanders away, and she watches him go, before turning back to Grace. Who's grinning at her. A lot. "What?" she asks.

"Nothing."

"Uh huh."

"No, really." Grace shrugs, and smiles up at the tree canopy above them. "It's just sweet is all."

"What is?"

"You know," she waves a hand blindly, "you two. Totally skipping all that new relationship awkwardness and instead moving straight into the comfortable we've-been-together-for-years stage."

Katee shrugs. "Well, Sergio said to make it look as established as possible. I think Ron really wants to screw with the fans' minds with this episode."

Grace almost does a double take. "Huh? What are you talking about?"

A little surprised by her reaction, Katee blinks. "Starbuck and Apollo, of course." She frowns, "... why? What are _you_ talking about?"

Grace is looking at her like she's a simpleton. "You and Jamie," she says, as though it's obvious.

"Me and..." Katee gapes at her. "Ex _cuse_ me?" Frantically, she tries to remember if she's ever done or said anything to give Grace such an idea. Yeah, things were screwed up for awhile there earlier in the year, but she's pretty sure they managed to maintain discretion over what had happened between them.

"Katee, come on." Grace hits her on the leg. "I mean, I get the whole keeping it quiet thing, because it's only been a couple of months since the divorce and all, but I'm your bestest birthday-sharing bud. You don't need to keep up the facade with me."

"Grace... Jamie and I... we aren't..." _Divorce_? Suddenly, Katee's really glad she's already sitting down.

"Oh, _please_. Have you seen the way you are with each other? The man never takes his eyes off of you, and I swear you're just as bad. If I didn't love the two of you so damn much, I'd probably have to kill you both for even thinking about hiding it from me in the first place."

"Grace..." she says again, but that's all that she can manage. She feels dizzy, and light-headed, and her brain is currently rewinding through the past few months -- the past _year_ \-- and none of it makes sense anymore. Not a single goddamned day. She forces herself to speak. "... can I ask you a stupid question?"

"Sure."

"When did Jamie get divorced?" The moment the words slip out, she wishes she could take them back, because this is a subject she swore she'd never let herself even contemplate, let alone discuss.

Grace smiles. "Three months ago," she answers, "but that's not what you should be asking me."

"It's not?" She looks up and sees Grace's bright grin and pales. "Oh, _god_. How long have you _known_?"

Clapping her hands, Grace beams. "Finally! And the answer to that is: ever since the rumours about the cracks in Jamie and Kerry's marriage first started appearing --"

_Don't want to know. Don't want to know. Don't want to know._

"-- about two years ago."

Her stomach lurches dangerously. "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Laughing, Grace moves so she's sitting beside her, and rubs her shoulders. "No, you won't. You'll be fine."

"Two _years_?"

"I know, it surprised me a little too at first. Not to mention the fact that, until the Burbank convention, I thought for sure it was just him."

"Oh, god."

"But then I saw how you freaked out that night at the hotel and I put two and two together --"

Her head snaps up so fast she almost gives herself whiplash. "We didn't -- I mean, I may have _thought_ , but back then I never --"

Grace nods. "I know, but feelings still add up to four."

She wilts then, and drops her head onto Grace's shoulder. "I never meant for it to happen, you know?" she says quietly. "I thought it was just a crush or transference or, god, _anything_ but this."

"I know," says Grace again and rubs her back comfortingly. "That's why we never said anything."

She sits up again. "We?" she asks, right before the penny drops. "Tahmoh," she sighs, and Grace nods.

"Yeah?"

They both look up, but it's Grace who answers. " _Please_ tell me you have food."

The man in question grins. "That depends. Do you know the magic word?"

"Now?"

"Ha! Since when has that _ever_ been a magic word?"

"Since now. Gimme!"

"So mature... hey!" Laughing, Katee watches as Grace lunges for him, and then finally looks up at Jamie, who's still standing beside her.

"Everything okay?" he asks, and for the first time in what seems like forever, she doesn't feel a need to evade the question.

"Perfect." She nods at the plate in his hands. "Do I need a magic word too?"

He inclines his head a little, and takes a step closer so he can sit beside her. "I hear please always works wonders."

She smiles, and feels his shoulder bump against hers as he hands her the food. "How about thank you?"

He smiles back. "Perfect."

  


* * *

  


Sergio sends a freshly napped Emily over to them a little while later, and they spend a good half hour or more playing with the girl under the trees. At one point she and Grace find themselves on the guys' backs, piggy-back style, while Emily runs circles around them, and it's insane, and hilarious, and when Jamie finally drops her on her ass to avoid her tickling, she's laughing too hard to care.

He drops down onto the grass beside her, and brushes her hair from her eyes, and it feels like the most natural thing in the world to just reach up and wrap her fingers around his neck and pull him down for a kiss. It's chaste, and barely there -- a stage kiss, she thinks, because there are still cameras rolling -- but it's still enough to make her shiver.

When he pulls back, and gives her a slightly questioning look, she just smiles at him helplessly, and then grabs him hard and rolls them down the slight incline, and by the time they've stopped moving, he's laughing too.

They film the next segment right there, curled up on the grass, with her head on his chest and his arms wrapped around her, just dozing in the sun, and when one of the PA's comes over to tell them that's a wrap, she almost can't bring herself to move.

She does though, and she pulls him up too, and then they head over to where everyone else has gathered to watch some of the feeds before the equipment all gets packed away. James looks exhausted, as he sits with Tricia, passing a bottle of water back and forth, and Katee's not really that surprised, considering these two have been acting the same scene over and over again all day, while the rest of them just improv'ed in the background.

"Rough day?" she asks sympathetically, and Tricia rolls her eyes.

"Don't ask."

Jamie walks away to chat with Ron, who's just arrived, so she takes a seat next to Michael, and makes fun of his Hawaiian shirt, and talks with Mary and Paul, who have spent most of the day filming on the other side of the park with Eddie, and by the time Sergio finally remembers to tell them they can all go home, Tricia's almost asleep on James' shoulder. So she starts saying her goodbyes, and finds her backpack, and then changes her mind about leaving straight away, because the weather is still nice, even if it is cooling down now that the sun's fading, and wanders over to the swing-set that Tahmoh and Grace had called dibs on earlier.

It's quieter now, without Emily laughing and crew running around, James going crazy and Sergio yelling "cut!", and she rocks back in the swing until she's got a semi-decent sway happening, and then smokes a cigarette while her momentum takes care of the rest.

She can see the trees where they were all sitting earlier, and she tries not to think about her conversation with Grace too much because she's terrified that, if she does, she'll start over-analysing everything they talked about and she doesn't want to ruin the warm little buzz she's still got going just yet.

Eventually she has to kick herself into moving again, if for no other reason than, at some point tonight, she's going to need to find a bathroom, so she grabs her stuff and starts making her way towards the parking lot. Everybody else seems to have gone already and, as she digs out her car keys, she wonders if she's feeling brave enough to call up Jamie and ask him if he wants to get together for a bite to eat or a drink or something.

Then she looks up, and sees him leaning against the side of her car, and realises courage is extremely overrated.

"Hey you," she smiles, "I didn't think anyone else was still here."

He nods towards the exit. "Ron and Sergio just left." He shifts off her door, so she can unlock it and throw her bag inside and then lean against the frame herself. "And I saw you walking up, so I figured I'd hold back long enough to say goodnight."

"That's sweet," she says, and he shrugs, and opens his mouth, but she beats him to it because, all sweetness aside, she really doesn't want to hear the word goodbye just yet. "So, um, do you wanna, maybe, go grab some dinner or something?" she asks, and then flushes, just a little, because that came out nowhere near as smooth or casual as she would have liked.

"I'd love to," he says, and she beams at him, "but I can't," and her stomach does a nasty little backflip.

"Oh." With difficulty, she tries to keep her smile in place. "Okay. Well. Maybe tomorrow or --" He's not smiling at all, she realises suddenly, so she swallows hard and finishes with an inadequate, "-- whenever." She wraps her keychain around her index finger tightly and thinks it'd be awfully nice if a hole in the ground could open up right about now.

"I'm sorry," he says, and she nods quickly.

"Hey, no biggie." She pastes the brightest smile she can manage onto her face and turns back to her car. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow." She hears him take a step away, and then stop, and god, she's not going to turn around, because she's pretty sure she's just humiliated herself enough for one night, thankyouverymuch. "It's just... I don't think I can keep doing this. With you. I mean, I love you dearly, but I'm not _like_ you... I can't just keep turning it off on cue and having it all mean nothing the next day. It's too hard." He pauses, and she hears him kick at the gravel. "I'm sorry," he says again, quietly, and this time, when he starts to walk away, she turns so fast she almost trips over her own two feet.

"What was that middle part again?" And, shit, it's the wrong thing to say, she knows that the moment the words pass her lips, because that's what _Kara_ once said and this has nothing to do with their characters and the show and, _fuck_ , he's still walking away. "I love you."

She's never said that before, not properly, not when it really matters -- hell, she's never even let herself _think_ the words in relation to _him_ \-- but admitting it is not nearly as terrifying as she thought it might be, so she slams her car door shut, and takes two steps after him and, yeah, her heart's beating so fast she thinks she might pass out, but he's stopped walking at least, so she says it again, slower this time, louder. "I love you."

He doesn't turn around, not completely, but he does look to the side, like maybe he's going to look over his shoulder. "There's no camera here, Katee."

"I know." She takes another step closer to him.

"And no one's going to yell 'cut'."

"Good." Another step, and now she's standing right behind him and, god, he's still not turning around and suddenly she's wondering if maybe she's got it all wrong, because maybe he didn't mean it like _that_ , and, _fuck_. "Jamie --"

He moves so fast she almost, _almost_ steps back in surprise, but then his hands are on either side of her face, and his lips are slanting across hers, and she forgets whatever it was she was going to say next because the universe is reducing itself to just him, and her, and the lightning strike of heat that jolts straight down to her toes as he kisses her breathless.

She's gasping when they finally come up for air, and it takes her a moment to find her voice. "So," she manages eventually, "dinner?"

And he laughs, and hugs her so tightly her feet almost leave the ground. "Okay."

  


* * *

  


They decide to grab a pizza, and head back to her place, and she can't stop smiling as she drives, can't stop touching her lips and _grinning_ , and it takes her twice the time it usually takes to get there because she's two blocks from her street when she realises she's completely forgotten to stop and actually _get_ the pizza, so she has to turn around and do half the trip all over again.

He's already there when she finally makes it home, just leaning against the wall next to her front door, waiting for her, and her heart skips a beat when he smiles as she approaches.

"I think your neighbours are worried I'm casing the joint or something," he says, in his best American accent, and she laughs as she hands him the pizza so she can find her keys.

"Well, you're welcome to take whatever you want," she says, letting them inside.

"Really?"

"Sure." She shuts the door and flicks the deadbolt and then stills as his hands slide over her hips and his mouth finds the back of her neck.

"Good," he says, and she shudders as the word vibrates on her skin, "because what I want is _you_."

_God_. Pivoting in his grip, she fists her hands in his jacket and tugs him closer; suddenly needs to kiss him so badly her head's spinning even before his lips brush hers.

"Katee," he says against her mouth, and for a moment the kiss is almost sweet, almost gentle, but then his hands slip into her jacket, and skim upwards, pushing it off her shoulders, and sweet and gentle are drowned under a wave of pure, unadulterated lust.

His jacket follows hers, and then their shirts, and when her back hits her door, he maneuvers a thigh between hers and she grinds against him shamelessly, scratching her nails across his shoulder blades. _Too fast_ , she thinks briefly, but she can't stop kissing him, can't stop _feeling_ , and so she tells herself they'll go slower next time and pulls him even closer.

He groans, and slaps one of his hands onto the door near her head, and pushes away just enough for their lips to part. "God," he manages, "what you do to me --" and she can only nod in agreement, because his other hand is on her breast, thumb brushing back and forth over her nipple, and each caress hits her just that little bit harder.

Then he's kissing her again. And again. And she drags her hands down his chest and fights with the fastening on his jeans, and he follows her lead, and the next thing she knows, his hand is working its way past denim and cotton and his fingers are sliding over her sex -- and she can't help it, she whimpers -- and then _into_ her and, oh, god, ohgod, _fuck_.

She arches into him, and her jeans really aren't helping here at all, but he works the angle as best he can and it's almost too much -- then _is_ too much -- so she pushes him away and says, " _Jamie_ ," because that's the only word she has left in her vocabulary.

He stares at her, breathing hard, and she thinks _mine_ , and something of that thought must show in her eyes, because suddenly he's kissing her again, and it's just a little bit slower than before, so she's able to toe off her shoes and slide her jeans and underwear out of the way, and help him do the same, before she drowns again.

Her bra is the last thing to go, and then there's just the slip of his flesh on hers as he pushes her back against the door, and then into her, and she wraps her arms around his shoulders and lets him sort out their balance, because she's already coming and, god, she'll probably be as embarrassed as hell about that later but right now all she can do is draw him deeper, and kiss him harder, and let her vision white-out and...

He follows her with just a few more thrusts, with what tastes like her name on his tongue, and she's somehow not surprised to find them both sliding down to the ground soon afterwards (god knows her own legs are utterly useless right now) so she just holds him close and tries not to think about how hard her floor is.

"Think we'll ever make it to your bed?" he asks after awhile, when their breathing has slowed enough to speak, and she snorts, and buries her face into his shoulder.

"Right now I'm just glad we made it inside the apartment."

He laughs, and runs his hand up and down her back, and then pulls her backwards with him, rolling until she's lying flat and he's half on top of her.

"Jamie --" she protests, almost laughing herself, as his tongue is drags a line down between her breasts, "the pizza --"

"We can reheat it later," he says, and her eyes slam shut as she feels him smile against her stomach.

She's not really that hungry anyway.

  


* * *

  


She is later, though, and she makes him stand on one side of her kitchen, while she keeps to the other, because they've already contemplated reheating the pizza twice now and she's not so sure she can last another distraction without some food in her.

"Ah!" Without even turning around, she holds up her hand. "Stay."

He laughs. "I haven't moved!"

"Liar," she tells her oven, as she tries to get it to light, "you just took two steps."

"I most certainly did not."

"Did too." He takes another one, and she points at his distorted reflection on her toaster. "I _can_ see you, you know."

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

Laughing, she slides the pizza into the oven and stands up, unsurprised when his chest meets her back and his palms slide over her hips, settling over her stomach, holding her close. "You're insatiable," she pronounces, but her hands fold over his and she leans her head back onto his shoulder.

He nuzzles the skin where her shoulder meets her neck. "I can't help it," he says, "do you always cook naked?"

She'd hardly call this cooking but, "only when a certain British actor I know keeps removing everything I try to put on."

"Mmm." He brings one hand up to brush aside her hair; leaves a trail of kisses across her collarbone. "Remind me to send him a thank you note."

Tilting her head to the side, she hums a little as his mouth finds a tendon and sucks; lightly at first, then harder. "Ja-mie..."

"Hmm?"

The hand on her stomach smoothes higher, stroking lazily until he can brush the backs of his fingers against the underside of her breasts. She sighs and presses back against him, "... nothing."

She turns the oven off.

  


* * *

  


They do manage to eat eventually, curled up on her lounge, and afterwards she takes him to her bed and when she wakes briefly in the middle of the night, and rolls over to check the time, he's still there, beside her, a leg tangled between hers, and she thinks maybe, just maybe, this might really be happening after all.

  


* * *

  


They arrive on set together in the morning, and Grace takes one long look at Jamie, and her, and then smirks so broadly Katee just wants to hit her, even though they're not due to film that particular scene for another four days. She settles for ignoring her instead, and does quite well at it until lunch time, when Grace corners her at the buffet table.

"Same clothes as yesterday," she says by way of greeting, " _very_ suspicious."

She's referring to Jamie, of course (they didn't have time for him to go home and change before work; barely avoided being late as it was), but Katee just shrugs like she doesn't understand and asks the caterers if they have any more bananas.

"Alright, fine," says Grace, still grinning, "I can take a hint." Grabbing a handful of grapes, she pops one into her mouth, takes two steps away, stops, and turns back. "Before I _do_ , however, a word of advice?" Against her better judgment, Katee looks up expectantly, as Grace leans in close and whispers, " _turtlenecks_."

Flushing instantly, Katee only just manages to restrain from slapping a hand over her neck, and Grace laughs and walks away.

  


* * *

  


The next three weeks pass in a blur, as another year of filming wraps up, and the first thing Katee does on her day off is go grocery shopping, before her cupboards can give Hubbard's a run for her money.

"Oh, for crying out loud, Jamie -- pick one already."

Studying the racks of loaves intently, he doesn't even glance at her. "Bite me, Katee."

_You wish_. Exhaling loudly, she slouches further over the cart she's pushing and kicks at one of the wheels. "It's just _bread_ ," she mutters, under her breath, but he hears it anyway and he flips her off. She grins despite herself.

She's just about to grab one of the tomatoes already in the cart and lob it at his head, when her cell rings. Rummaging quickly through her bag, she answers it just before it can go through to voicemail. "Hello?"

"Katee!"

She blinks in surprise. " _Isla_?"

"Guess what! Guess what!"

"Um... what?" She looks up to find Jamie looking at her quizzically, and shrugs helplessly.

"I got _two_ gold stars today!"

She can almost _hear_ the five year old bouncing over the phone -- which is definitely kinda cute -- so she ignores the weirdness that is his kid calling her cell clear out of the blue and smiles a little. "Two, huh? That's pretty impressive."

"My teacher said I did the goodest colouring in on my giraffe. It was purple. Oh! And then I sat really, really quiet in reading time so I got another one. And after school we went to the park and I played on the slide and --" Wow. And she thought _Grace_ could do hyper like nobody's business. "-- are you still coming to Grandma and Grandpa's with us?"

"Uh..." She looks up at Jamie, who's turned back to the bread, and panics a little, 'cause suddenly she has absolutely _no_ idea what Isla's talking about, much less how to answer her. "Hey! You wanna speak to your Daddy? Here!" She thrusts her cell into his hands.

"Hello sweetheart..." She listens as Jamie asks Isla about her day, and her week, and then asks her to give the phone to Darcy and Ava, so he can say hello to them too. Kerry must come onto the line after that, because the conversation suddenly takes on a more adult tone, and Katee starts studying the loaves of bread with a level of intensity that, only minutes ago, she'd mocked him for having.

She's still trying to decide whether she needs more fibre or grain (or a combination of both) in her diet, when he rings off. "Here," he says, holding out her cell, "thanks."

"No problem," she says automatically, taking it from him and slipping it back into her bag. She wants to ask him why the girls are calling her cell, instead of his, but she's not sure how to -- it's not like she minds, per se. It's just... unexpected.

He must see the question in her eyes anyway. "I hope it's okay -- with my mobile playing up recently --" The battery keeps randomly shutting down; she's been telling him to get it replaced for the past two weeks. "-- I gave Kerry your number in case of an emergency and --"

"Hey, it's fine." She pauses for a moment. "Everything okay?"

He nods. "Yeah. Isla just wanted to share her good news."

She smiles. "Well, that's understandable... I hear gold stars are a pretty big deal these days."

He nods, a smile edging across his lips. "Oh, the biggest," he agrees, and he sounds so much like his daughter that she can't help but grin.

"C'mon," she says, leaning into him briefly and bumping her shoulder against his. "Let's get this finished and head home already. I'm _starving_."

He laughs. "You're _always_ hungry," he says, but he grabs a loaf of bread and tosses it into the cart, and follows her down the aisle, and by the time they've made it to the dairy section, she's back to wanting to throw things at him, because surely it doesn't make that much of a difference whether they get skim yoghurt or fat-free lite yoghurt, and she's about to tell him where he can put the whole shelf's worth, when he suddenly turns and looks at her.

"Come to England with me?"

She freezes; blinks. "When?"

"Christmas." He looks at the yoghurts in his hands and puts them back on the shelf, then changes his mind and picks one of them back up again. "Kerry's letting me take the girls to mum and dad's and I know we haven't really talked about our hiatus plans but we'd be back in time for you start filming that mini-series in January and I --"

He's rambling, and it's sweet (if a little bizarre -- she has no idea what it is about her that makes him so uncharacteristically unsure sometimes), so she starts to smile. "Okay."

"-- asked Isla the other day if she'd be okay with you coming along and --"

Well, that explains the girl's question earlier, she thinks, but he's still talking, so she leaves the cart in the middle of the aisle and takes the three steps necessary for her to reach up and press her fingers to his mouth. " _Jamie_ ," she says, cutting him off. "Shut up." He falls silent and looks down, and she moves her hand so she can grip his chin and tilt his gaze back to hers. "I'd love to."

"Really?"

She nods, and keeps smiling, and now he is too, a huge grin spreading across his face, and then he's leaning in and kissing her, just quickly, just like he did three and a half years ago, and she can't help but laugh because it's still awkward, and their arms are all wrong with him holding onto the yoghurt and her hand on his face...

He pulls back. "I love you," he says, quietly, still smiling, and she takes the yoghurt out of his hands and tosses it back onto the shelf.

"I love you too," she says, and kisses him properly. 

  


* * *

The End

**Author's Note:**

> ORIGINAL URL: <http://anr.livejournal.com/224893.html>


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